


Howl

by BeesKnees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Curses, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that the Black family is cursed and that Sirius Black is a traitor.</p>
<p>Written for rs-games 2012, Team Sirius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl

The first time he sees Sirius Black, he’s standing over his brother’s coffin. They’re mere feet away, and Remus can see all the details of his face; his eyes downcast, red, but not wet. His mouth is a thin line, perhaps a little too much stubble on his face. His hair is unkempt in the cold wind. He is not dressed how he should be, and he presents an odd portrait when juxtaposed against his mother and father. 

The sound of the dirt is heavy on the coffin, and Remus stands toward the back of the crowd, far enough away that he can hear the masses who will dare to whisper. 

_Another one cursed; the Blacks are all mad._

Sirius looks up, and their eyes connect across the crowd. He knows him for what he is, Remus realizes. It sends a jolt racing down into his stomach, but he does not look away, not from this aristocratic rebel of a boy who everyone else has marked a traitor; they have written his fate so that he is doomed. 

Sirius leaves before he should, although all words are spoken, and the dirt is mounded fresh upon the ground. He ignores anyone who tries to speak with him and walks over, straight to Remus. He doesn’t stop walking, his arm brushing amicably against Remus’ for only an instant. Remus decides to follow him.

“So you’re the new one?” Sirius asks. He walks down toward the street, pulling a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket. He offers one to Remus, but Remus shakes his head.

“I’m the new one,” Remus affirms. He knows better than to be offended. He knows his place in the scheme of this city. He hates London.

“I’m Sirius,” Sirius says around the cigarette as he lights it. He takes a drag on it, inhaling deeply before holding out one hand. His fingers are long, but Remus is surprised to feel calluses against his palm.

“Remus,” he answers.

“Remus,” Sirius repeats, and he lowers his head again, and for some reason there’s a smile on his face. Remus doesn’t understand. 

“How’s your sister?” Sirius asks, pulls the cigarette away, exhales more smoke. Remus can’t tell if the question is asked because Sirius cares or because it’s the polite thing to ask. 

“Glad to be home,” Remus answers.

“Glad to be away from us,” Sirius answers knowingly, and the curve of his smile turns a bit hard. Remus doesn’t bother to correct him, because they both know it’s the truth. 

Sirius’ attention is pulled away, and he looks over Remus’ shoulder, his eyes following something. His eyes go hard as well. Remus turns just in time to see Sirius’ mother come to stand beside them. Surely, at some point she was a beautiful woman. He can even see traces of Sirius in her. But there is something rotted about her now, her skin too tight against her face, her eyes emotionless. She does not look at him, and she does not greet Sirius.

“I will not have another one in my house, Sirius,” she hisses, her voice sharp enough that Remus can imagine the words cutting, slicing flesh from bone.

“He won’t be in your house,” Sirius answers, and there’s something about his voice that is clearly intended to bait her. They stand away from each other, the cold crackling between them, until Sirius steps away. Remus follows him gratefully, turning away from Mrs. Black without saying anything. They walk to the street, and Sirius stubs out a cigarette and straddles a motorcycle. Remus has no choice but to get on behind him or be left behind. 

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, and his pulse is beating a little too quickly. He’s never been on any of these moving metal contraptions, and they seem to promise certain death. Sirius kicks them away from the curb, and they rip through the street. The cold air whips against Remus’ face, through his hair, and he’s surprised to find that it moves so fast, that it feels akin to running underneath the full moon. Less control, certainly, but the speed of it is delicious. He’s almost sad when Sirius brings them to a stop in front of a rundown flat. 

He climbs off the bike, looking just once over his shoulder to make sure that Remus is following. And he does, because at this point, Remus knows that he has no choice.  
…

_Once, in the heart of the midnight forest, there was a boy who was lost. He was not supposed to be there, but had left his noble family for some unknown amount of time. His blood ran wild, calling him to adventure, and he heeded that call, knowing that he was not yet ready to forsake a boy’s dreams for the responsibilities of being a man. He traversed where he pleased, making many friends, seeing many sites, all while his family lamented that he was not ready for the tasks which were at hand. But he was happy for the time -- until he came to the midnight forest, and was hopelessly lost, lingering far from the path._

_The moon rose high in the sky, and even with the light of his magic, he could not find his way. In the distance, the wolves howled._  
…

“You ever been to London before?” Sirius asks as he shrugs off the leather jacket that he’s wearing. He heads into the kitchen, still wearing his muddy boots, and puts a kettle on the worn stove. 

“Yes,” Remus says, glancing briefly about. He didn’t know where he had expected Sirius to live -- a boy, who by all accounts, was a prince of the wizarding world. He knows that Sirius had left his family. But he also knows that he’s recently been welcomed back. But this place is rundown, cracks running along the walls. The furniture doesn’t match; the couch is moth-eaten. There are several dirty mugs lining the back of it, balanced up against the wall. 

“Yes?” Sirius presses when he strolls back into the room.

“When I was younger,” Remus clarifies. 

“Glad to be back?” Sirius asks.

“No,” Remus answers. 

Sirius flops down across the couch and he laughs. One of the mugs rattles, but Sirius is merely looking up at him, the laugh lines on either side of his face quite deep. 

“And you like just being given to me?” he asks, and this time he is clearly looking to goad, done with any pleasantries. Remus is surprised to find that it is almost a relief, nice that they don’t have to dance around the topic.

“I do what my pack needs of me,” Remus answers.

“Not the Dark Lord?” Sirius asks. He’s looking forward and Remus can’t see his face as he asks this question.

“For as long as he’s allied with my father,” Remus settles for; after all, that’s really why he’s here. A hostage of sorts, almost -- the Dark Lord wanted a wolf to present to the Black family. When the first one had failed, he had demanded someone of higher ranking in the pack. So Remus had been called home from France, a present to the Black family to ensure that the Dark Lord still held Greyback’s best interests at heart.

“Fair enough,” Sirius breathes. He’s moving again, slipping back into the kitchen. He brings out two mugs, full of steaming hot tea. He hands one to Remus, who takes it carefully. 

“We’re going to need to break into Grimmauld Place,” Sirius plows forward easily, shrugging his shoulders as he does so.

“What?” Remus asks.

“My brother was working on something with your sister’s help,” Sirius answers. “Everything he did is still inside Grimmauld Place. We need to get it here if we’re going to continue it.”  
…

_The howls grow closer, and the light at the end of his wand flickers as the boy gives into his fear. The shadows in the forest seem to grip at his ankles. The shapes just beyond the trees seem to grow larger. They rustle, and the boy imagines he can hear the scratching of their nails upon the dirt. He can see the moonlight that glints in their eyes. Yellow, luminescent. He tries to travel more quickly, but they are tracking him now. He is lost, he knows. They will take him down easily. No spell will stop them. Their circle around him grows tighter._  
…  
Grimmauld Place is a tomb. That’s the first thing that Remus thinks when Sirius quietly inches the door open. He waves his wand before he steps inside, and although Remus doesn’t see anything change, Sirius seems satisfied because he places one boot on the threshold and then gestures for Remus to follow after him. Remus does, but he can’t keep his gaze from wandering. The atmosphere is so oppressive and Remus suddenly aches to be outside. He aches for the feeling of open fields, of dense forests. He doesn’t known how anyone could have survived in a place like this. 

The lighting is dim, but he can see the way the eyes of the portraits follow them all awhile, some mumbling sounds of dissent. Sirius heads for the steps. The first one creaks under his weight.

“They’re not here,” Sirius whispers back to him. “But we don’t want to trigger anything that will let them know we’re here now.”

Now. As in, his parents will certainly know they were here eventually. He wonders why it is that Sirius has bothered coming back to his family. It hardly seems that they fight on the same side. He can’t imagine behaving the same way with his own pack.

Such thoughts are short-lived when Sirius reaches a hand back. Remus accepts it, only because he fears falling through these steps or what might lurk in the corners of this house. They make it up to the second floor. Remus almost turns toward the door that has ‘Sirius’ marked on it, but Sirius turns the other, tugging him away. Remus follows. It takes Sirius seconds to get the door open, and then they’re inside. 

This room is meticulously neat. It’s still muted, all dark shades of black and green and silver, but there’s been some care put into it. He tries to imagine his sister here, and he can’t. 

Sirius lets go of his hand finally, and hurries over to the desk. His actions are a bit more harrowed now. He pushes through the books that are sitting on the top shelf of the desk, letting some fall to the ground. Remus wants to offer to help, but he has no idea what Sirius is looking for. He finally picks up one book with a creased spine and flips through it. The pages look blank to Remus, but Sirius hands him the book anyway. Remus accepts it, glancing down at it once more. 

He can’t help but think of what everyone has warned him -- the Blacks are all mad. 

Sirius is starting to look through the potions ingredients neatly parceled to one side of the desk, and Remus chances another look around the room. There are a few pictures tacked to the wall, all perfectly straight, no creases in the corners. Remus steps closer to one. It seems to be a Quidditch team, and toward the front, there’s a young boy who looks a great deal like Sirius. He glances over at Sirius, who is throwing practically anything he touches into a bag that Remus didn’t know he had. He seems scarcely aware of the fact that he buried his brother this morning. 

There’s a soft noise outside the door, and Sirius looks up, his eyes alert. His hand hovers over a vial of something. He freezes like that for just a moment before quietly pushing the vial into the bag as well. He appraises the desk once more before looking over at Remus. He doesn’t say anything, just shoulders the bag and holds his hand out toward Remus once more. He nudges his head to the side, dark hair falling across his face: clearly a command to come closer again. 

Remus inches closer, fitting his hand in against Sirius’ once more. Sirius tugs him even closer, and there’s an instant where Remus’ pulse jumps, thinking that he’s about to be attacked. But then there’s a crack of noise, the brush of magic, and Remus’ world spins away.  
…

_The boy flicks a fire to life. It seems to widen their circle only a little, but he can see them better now. Instead of shadows of imagination, they’re monsters made flesh. He catches snatches of fur, white, grey, black, brown. All circling about him. He sees the glinting shine of teeth so long, hungering to sink into the vulnerable places of his flesh. Ears perk up with each motion he makes. The fire pops, sending embers flaring into the sky. He whips around when it happens, and that’s when the first leaps out of the bushes, leaving behind the shadows of the forest. Teeth bare, spine a curve, ready for the attack._  
…  
When Remus can breathe again, he realizes that they’re back at Sirius’ flat. He feels dizzy for a moment, as if he’s still held inside the sway of whatever spell Sirius had cast. Across from him, Sirius laughs. He shrugs, trying the bag. 

“Come up to the lab,” he drawls, still grinning as if he’s made some kind of joke. Perhaps he has. Remus stumbles after him. 

They head into one of the rooms, and Remus is surprised to see the vast amount of potions equipment in this room. It seems as if this is specifically what this room is for. He wonders why it was that they had to break into Regulus’ room if Sirius has so much here. 

Sirius drops the bag down on top of a countertop, and then kicks a chair out from underneath it.

“Sit,” he says -- he says it kindly enough that it’s meant to be an offer, not a command, and Remus accepts the chair. 

“I need one more thing,” Sirius is still talking, moving constantly. He leans in, and takes the book out of Remus’ grasp, which, Remus hadn’t realized until that moment that he was still clutching. He sets the book down next to the bag.

“I need some of your blood,” Sirius murmurs, and for the first time, he seems to lose some of that spark that seems to constantly light him from inside. There’s no smile on his face this time, just small creases at the corners of his mouth. He’s still standing too close, and it takes Remus a moment to realize that he’s asking for permission. It’s certainly an odd request, Remus will grant him that, but he had come here expecting odd things, and Sirius hasn’t failed him yet. 

He nods, offering his arm out to Sirius. 

Sirius looks at him once more, his gaze seeming to cut deeper this time. Remus doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Sirius is the one that eventually breaks their gaze. His eyes flit down, eyelashes pressed against his cheeks. His fingers wrap lightly around the crux of his elbow. In his other hand is a knife -- Remus doesn’t even have time to be fully surprised at the sight of it before Sirius firmly presses the tip of it into his skin. 

At first, just a bead wells up under the metal. And then enough that Remus can hear it quietly hit the bottom of the small bowl that Sirius has maneuvered underneath his arm. Sirius doesn’t look at him the entire time -- he’s avoiding his gaze purposefully, and Remus is surprised to see that there’s something like guilt written on the planes of his face. The curve of his mouth is tight, his eyes downcast. 

“You’re all right?” Sirius asks as he draws back. He presses a cloth briefly to Remus’ arm, stemming the blood flow.

“Yes,” Remus answers. It’s a little thing to give -- although he knows that it wouldn’t be treated with levity by either of their worlds. He glances back over to the supplies that are resting in a mess. He wonders exactly what it is the Black brothers are working on that they need werewolf blood on such a regular basis. He wonders if anybody else knows -- does the Dark Lord know? Does his own father know? How much blood was his sister called to give? But these aren’t questions that he can yet give voice to.

“Thank you,” Sirius says, and there’s something of a shadow of a smile on his face again. He draws away. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says, and Remus takes that as his signal to leave. He does. He heads out of the room, and Sirius shuts the door, and Remus wanders the halls of a place that isn’t quite a prison, but might as well be.  
…

_The wolf moves so quickly that the boy doesn’t have time to react. He is pressed to the ground. His wand goes tumbling out of his hand, flying across the dirt. He finds himself on the ground, staring up at the stars punched into the inky darkness of the sky. A heavy paw comes down on the center of his chest, the weight so absolute that for a moment, the boy fears that his ribs will collapse beneath it. The claws tear at the fabric of his robes, nicking at the skin underneath. Pinpricks of blood swell to the surface. The wolf raises his head, tilting it back, and howls, the sound so loud, the boy wants to clap his hands over his ears. He watches the long line of the wolf’s throat move, and he trembles._  
…

Remus falls asleep on the couch downstairs. He’s exhausted and he can’t bring himself to stay awake until Sirius is finished. He’s traveled far, and already so much has happened. Already, he is struggling to keep up with the events of the day. And it’s late, the sun having already sank beneath the horizon.

He dreams:

It’s not unusual for him to dream of being a wolf. Sometimes, it seems like that’s all he ever dreams of, because in the days when the moon is not full, he aches for the feeling of her, for the feeling of freedom. And he’s never needed it more than he needs it now.

He runs, broad paws pounding across the expanse of the forest floor. The night embraces him, the forest alive around him. He can see-hear-smell everything, and the senses send his blood pounding through the powerful body. Make him howl with joy. 

It takes him mere seconds to realize that he is not running alone. There is another creature nearby -- not a wolf. But close enough in size. Just a little off in smell. He races through a clearing, and a couple paces behind him, a dog emerges. It pants, long pink tongue lolling out. It’s dark, nearly blending in with the shadows around them. It’s large for a dog -- though not nearly the size of a wolf. 

The wolf approaches it slowly, but the dog bounds forward, letting its wet nose find the crux between neck and shoulder. The wolf presses forward, teeth finding the dog’s scruff for a moment. Not an enemy then, and for the time being, that’s enough to appease his instincts. He releases the dog, pulls away, and they resume running. He hears the yip of the dog behind him, and then the dog is chasing him. He tries to keep pace. The wolf outflanks him easily.

Only when the wolf tires of this game does he pause. He catches the dog, instead, bringing them tumbling to the ground in a mass of fur and limbs. 

The dog laughs and Remus looks up into Sirius’ face. Sirius smiles, and presses his hands up against Remus’ cheeks. His thumbs trace the arches of his cheekbones. 

“Can I trust you?” he murmurs. His eyes are searching, the grey oddly bright in the low lighting of the forest. 

“Yes,” Remus breathes out before even considering the answer. His own hands find Sirius’ arms, as if simply needing another point of contact.

“I thought so,” Sirius says, his voice low. He leans in and brushes his lips gently over Remus’ -- the kiss so light, it might as well have not been there.

Remus wakes on the couch with a start. He’s uncomfortable, a faint sheen of sweat covering his skin. He’s twisted into an odd position. He swallows unevenly and sits up for just a minute, running a hand through his hair. He listens, trying to see if he can hear Sirius still working, but the flat merely creaks around him.

Remus lowers himself quietly back down onto the couch and stares at the ceiling for a long time. Near dawn, he falls back asleep, and this time, he does not dream.

…

_The teeth loom closer, and the boy closes his eyes._

…

Remus wakes up to the sun in his eyes and a clatter of noise from the kitchen. He flinches for just an instant, turning his head away from the light. It’s too bright and he doesn’t feel rested in the slightest. 

“I made you some eggs.”

He looks up and sees Sirius standing in front of him, holding out a plate in offering. He’s just got a pair of jeans on, and they’re slung low on his hips. His feet are bare, and there’s a towel from the kitchen slung over one naked shoulder. He’s got a string of tattoos across his collarbone, which comes as something of a surprise. Remus recognizes them as runes, but he doesn’t know what any of them say. His eyes dip down to Sirius’ forearm and, of course, there’s the dark mark. Sirius doesn’t even try to hide it. 

“You got one?” Sirius asks when he sees where Remus’ eyes have wandered to. 

“Wolves don’t get marked,” Remus answers neutrally as he finally accepts the plate from Sirius. 

“Lucky you,” Sirius remarks wryly. He drops down in a chair across from the couch, a loose sprawl of limbs as he begins to eat. 

Remus eats slowly even though he suddenly realizes just how hungry he is. Some part of him is surprised that Sirius can cook at all, but the eggs aren’t bad. Sirius finishes before he does, sets the plate aside, and lights a cigarette and begins to languidly smoke. Remus is aware that Sirius watches him the entire time. He knows he’s still being studied and he’s not entirely sure why that is. 

Sirius exhales a mouthful of smoke.

“I feel we should be honest with each other,” Sirius announces, and Remus looks up. He’s not sure what prompted this sudden declaration. 

“I was in your dream last night, right?” Sirius asks. And when Remus doesn’t answer, he seems to take that as an affirmation and plows forward. “And you’ve heard that the Blacks are all cursed?” He grins, and the action is both wild and carefree. It’s dangerous and reckless, as if Sirius is amused that such rumors abound all across London -- but it also seems to be an answer to the question as well. “We are.” He nods. “When we sleep -- we don’t. We wander instead. Into other people’s dreams. And years of doing that, it burns us out quicker than anyone else.” He put one finger against his temple and twists it. “We lose it real fast.” 

“You and your brother,” Remus says slowly, starting to put the pieces together. “You’re trying to find an end to your curse? Using werewolf blood?” 

Sirius puffs on his cigarette and listens to Remus try to sort everything out. He grins wryly once again. 

“Regulus started out trying to find a cure,” Sirius answers. “He found something else.” Sirius pushes himself to his feet, picking up his plate as he moves. “I don’t believe in cures, Remus. But I do believe in protecting those you love. And I think I can use this mess in my head to do that.” He pauses, shifting a little on the wood floor. For the first time, he seems a bit unsure of himself -- or perhaps not quite that, but maybe aware of the weight of the words he’s saying. “I want to kill the Dark Lord.”

He hears the echoes of the voices he’d heard when he’d first walked into London -- that Sirius Black had returned to his family. That the world should have always known that he was a traitor at his core. And Remus can’t help but be a little confused. Because these aren’t the words of a traitor. These are the words of someone who has returned to the fold with the purpose of bringing it down. Sirius has a plan, and Remus is all too aware that he’s being mixed into it.

He can’t profess any love or loyalty to Voldemort. Any servitude he owes to the man is because his father swore fealty. And Remus is loyal to his pack. Which is why he came in the first place -- and now, it seems as if he might have the opportunity to help Sirius to destroy the man that Remus believes is destroying his pack. He’s still for a long time, because he’s still not exactly sure what Sirius’ ability would have to do with bringing down Voldemort -- or how he can help.

“Why are you telling me this?” Remus asks finally. 

Sirius smiles, and the expression is bright, so bright, that Remus can’t even begin to fathom that Sirius is lying about any of this.  
“Because I trust you,” he answers.

…

_The teeth do not make contact. Before the boy can be devoured by the wolf that looms overhead, there is another flash of fur. The smaller wolf collides with the one above the boy. There is a yip of pain, and the two go tumbling over into the bush. The boy trembles for a scarce moment, trying to recall how to breathe. He is aware of the way that his heart is beating in his ears, as if it has been transplanted to his throat. His eyes search out the wolves automatically. The smaller wolf has made it onto the larger wolf’s back. Hackles raised, teeth bare, she sinks her teeth into the scruff of the larger wolf. Fur flies into the air, and there is the sharp splash of red, visible even to the boy in the low lighting._

…

Sirius doesn’t explain anything else for some time. He begins moving instead, all frenetic energy. He gets dressed and cleans up the kitchen, and begins making lists of other potion ingredients that they’ll need to get. Remus struggles to keep up with him. He manages to get himself cleaned up and dressed as well; they’re just about to leave, when there’s a knock on the door. Remus watches as every muscle in Sirius’ body goes taut. He’s on the alert now, no longer carefree, but wary. 

He rolls his wand in the fingers of one hand, and keeps it close when he slowly opens the door.

“Andy,” Sirius says in surprise when he sees whoever is there. The tension drops down out of his shoulders. He opens the door the rest of the way, and Remus can see the woman that’s standing on the stoop. She’s just a few inches shorter than Sirius, and has dark brown hair that’s nearly black. It curls a little, gathering near the top of her shoulders. Her eyes are the same stormy grey color that Sirius’ are. She’s holding the hand of a young girl, who has bright purple hair. She glances inside briefly, and looks at Remus right away. He feels as if her gaze cuts straight through him.

“Oh Sirius,” she says, and her voice indicates that she’s devastated. She walks inside, and closes the door behind herself. “We need to talk,” she says, and though her voice is still gentle, there’s no mistaking that she’s not going to accept any argument.

Sirius rocks a little on the balls of his feet, but then nods. He jams his wand back into the pocket of his pants. 

The woman releases the hand of the girl that she’s holding. She kneels briefly, brushing one hand over her face. 

“Stay here for a bit,” she says, her voice more gentle. “I’ll be right back.” She looks up at Remus as she finishes speaking, and the look that she gives him is all the warning that he needs. Remus almost wants to take a step back. 

Sirius also looks over at him, but Remus can’t read his expression. The two of them walk out of the room, Sirius walking just in front of her. They go into one of the rooms down the hall; Sirius shuts the door, but it clicks back out of place. 

Remus can hear Andromeda begin to talk, but he can’t make out distinct words at first. They convey mere emotion; she is upset, that much is clear.

“I’m Dora!”

Remus looks down and the bright-haired color is holding one hand up and out toward him. Each one of her fingernails is a different color, the paint already beginning to peel.

“I’m Remus,” he answers lightly, and he reaches out his hand to accept hers. It feels small in his, and her smile grows wider for a moment. 

“Are you friends with Sirius?” she asks, and he can already see that she’ll ask a thousand questions until she leaves.

“Yes,” he answers -- he doesn’t hesitate when he speaks, but his mind does hesitate for a moment. He doesn’t know if that’s really the proper word to convey whatever it is he is to Sirius, but he’s also certain that there’s no need to delve into such semantics with a child.

Andromeda’s voice rises from behind them, and Remus catches just a few snippets of words -- that Sirius is out of his mind, and that the danger he’s putting himself in is unnecessary. He can’t hear Sirius’ answer, but he hears the low rumble of Sirius’ voice, intense, and unlike anything Remus has heard from him before.

“Mummy is scared,” Dora says, and Remus has forgotten she’s there for that instant. She’s looking back toward the door, back to where Sirius and Andromeda are barely hidden. There are deep lines on her little face, sharply contradicting the bright hue of her hair. 

“Everything’ll be okay,” Remus tries to reassure her. He doesn’t know how he can say such a thing when he has no idea at all if it’s true. It might as well be a lie, although he says it with the best of intentions. Those intentions seem to count for nothing, because Dora doesn’t even draw her gaze away from the door right away. 

“She’s afraid that we’ll all go away like Sirius’ brother.”

Remus has no idea what to say to that, his tongue stilled against the roof of his mouth. He doesn’t know if it’s a relief or not when Sirius and Andromeda both return. There’s color high on both of their cheekbones, a storm brewing in the dark grey of Sirius’ eyes.

Andromeda looks toward him for only a second before gathering up Dora’s hand and leading her back out the door.

“Bye Sirius!” Dora calls cheerfully, waving over her shoulder at Sirius.

“Bye Dorabun,” Sirius says, and his smile is so wide that it almost extinguishes the anger that is still lingering underneath the surface of his skin. He leans against the door. “I’ll take you for a ride next time you come by, yeah?” he asks. There’s a peel of laughter before Dora and Andromeda are both gone. The instant they’ve vanished from sight, the smile disappears from Sirius’ face.

“She won’t bring her back again,” Sirius says. He almost seems to be talking to himself, and he almost seems to be offering an explanation to Remus. Remus isn’t sure which.

“My cousin,” Sirius says finally, glancing over at him. He nods out to the street, where Andromeda had just been. “Andy. Andromeda. She’s disowned like I am. Was. But just because we get disowned doesn’t mean that the problems go away.” He taps his fingers over the frame of the door. “There’s a fifty-fifty shot that Dora’s going to start dream wandering any day now, and that notion terrifies Andromeda.” A bitter smile crosses over Sirius’ face. “I guess it’d terrify me too.”

Remus is surprised that he can tell what Sirius is really saying: that even though he proclaims that he doesn’t believe in cures and that they’re all lost anyway, he’s terrified for his little cousin as well. 

Sirius clears his throat, and pushes himself away from the doorframe. He still moves easily, but there’s a sudden weight to his limbs that wasn’t there before, as if his body is suddenly much too much for him to carry on his own.

“She’s angry that I came back,” Sirius continues. “And I can’t tell her why, of course. She’s afraid that I’m going to end up like Regulus.”

“Why did you come back?” Remus asks. Because he knows that Sirius says that he came back to kill the Dark Lord, but he thinks that a man like Sirius, while spontaneous, wouldn’t be fond of doing something that involves him being deceptive. He rather thinks that Sirius would have preferred to kill the Dark Lord by staying on the side of the Order. Desperation must have forced his hand for him to cross back over so that he could attain werewolf blood.

Sirius is still for a long moment, standing in the middle of the room. The sun spills patterns through the windows, and Sirius seems to be staring at them. It’s the longest that Remus has seen Sirius be still since they met. His whirlwind of activity is halted by a mere question, and Remus thinks that he’s hit upon something important. He hasn’t just come back to kill the Dark Lord; there’s a greater purpose to it all.

“All these Seers started seeing this vision,” Sirius says finally. He has his back to Remus when he speaks. “And for a while, that was all I could see when I was sleeping. This same prophecy being foreseen over and over and over.” He turns to look at Remus. “My best friend has a son. And in the prophecy that these Seers are having, the Dark Lord goes to kill his son and kills my best friend and his wife in the process.” Sirius shakes his head. “I can’t let that happen. So I’ll do whatever is necessary to kill Voldemort.”

“Can you stop a prophecy?” Remus asks, his words quiet.

“I have to,” Sirius says, shrugging his shoulders in an easy way, his concerned, ironic smile on his face once again. “They’re the only family I have.”

…

_The first wolf flees, turning tail and running back into the brush nearby. There is the pounding of paws as the wolves take off, and the boy can just make out the darkness of their shapes, flinging themselves haphazardly through the darkness of the woods. He turns, and he is left with just the second wolf. He is left with her. She is low to the ground, and there is blood on her muzzle. She whines in the back of her throat. The boy wants to take a step back. But he doesn’t._

…

When Remus dreams, he dreams of Sirius. 

They fall into this pattern, where they spend the beginning of the day together, pretending that they are friends, pretending that they have something in common rather than this odd, misshapen mission to destroy the Dark Lord. They wander through London together, and they visit all sorts of shops together. Sirius is constantly on the hunt for potions ingredients, all sorts of oddities that sent them careening into dark alleyways, meeting with men who did not meet their eyes. Gold is exchanged in secrets. Most mornings though are dedicated to something beside that mission. Mostly, Sirius shows him the city, playing the guide while Remus plays the tourist. 

In the afternoons, Sirius retreats. He pours over his brother’s books, reading them again and again, as if searching for something that he hasn’t seen before. He mixes the ingredients they’ve gathered, and makes his own notes. Remus has seen the books that he keeps, all a scrawling mass, full of pictures that Remus has no idea what they are. 

He mostly tries to keep out of Sirius’ way when Sirius becomes like this. He can always hear Sirius’ low mutter through the walls, but he doesn’t dare disturb him. Most days, he leaves. He goes back out, but tries to escape the city. He tries to find some patch of sunlight, some rare breath of fresh air. He tries to get as far as he can, because while he doesn’t exactly mind being here with Sirius, he does feel cloistered. Being inside for long makes his skin feel tight, and there are always too many people around him. He longs for the expansive feeling of a forest or a field.

He’ll return just after it gets dark, and Sirius will always be waiting for him. He’ll either present a false jovial face or be silent all throughout dinner, and Remus never knows which one is worse. 

After dinner, their ritual continues and they press forward. Sirius doesn’t ask anymore, and for that Remus is grateful. It’s the same knife every night, the same pressure against almost the same point in his skin. The blood in the bowl, and poured into the cauldron that Sirius has waiting. Sometimes he takes more and sometimes he takes less, and Remus never knows exactly how Sirius judges how much is good for what he’s working on -- but he does know that he can feel himself growing weaker every day. Sirius’ eyes always dart up to his face when he works, and he can see the crease of worry that presses around the corners of Sirius’ eyes. But Remus knows full well that it would be foolish to stop now and he also knows that he won’t ask Sirius to stop. He just doesn’t know when the point will be that Sirius will have to stop. 

He remembers the haunted look in his sister’s eyes when she came back from the Black family, and he wonders how long she worked at this with Regulus Black.

Remus will sleep after that -- usually curled up on a nest of blankets on one of the floors. There’s a bed for him, but he refuses to use it.

And when he sleeps, eventually Sirius will come to him, and it’s quite strange, because it’s begun to learn the difference between what is his own mind, and what is the unique feeling of Sirius there. He brings all starshine brightness with him, a pervasive energy that unfurls into Remus’ mind. There’s a unique eagerness to it, a youthful quality that just begs for attention -- but some part of it is also wary, an older sense that is cautious of the hurt that has been heaped upon him. And that’s the wonder of Sirius, Remus thinks, is the easy duality that he can bring to life. 

It’s easy for them there, Remus knows, because he’s found that he can’t lie in dreams, and is open to Sirius. They race through the forest that Remus grew up in, dog bounding behind him. They lace through the trees, and through open fields. Across the stream, where the dog takes longer than necessary, splashing about in the shallow water. Sharp teeth snap after the tails of fish. A shake of fur, and they’re back off. Through fresh green grass, and through soft new winter snow. Some nights they’re in the streets of London, and sometimes they’re in the French countryside that Remus had left behind to come here. 

He always lets the dog catch him in the end. When they dog does catch him, it’s always Sirius, face full of bright laughter, hair smudged with the inky dark black-blue of the night sky. 

Sirius reaches for him. And his touch is always slow, long fingers brushing against his cheeks. (And the touch is strange in dreams, impossibly light and burning at the same time.) His hands frame Remus’ face, and his fingers card through his hair. He draws them together, legs intertwining, hips colliding. The kiss is so barely there at first, lips gliding so tentatively against his own, that it’s nearly the ghost of a touch. But Sirius can only take being slow for so long, until everything takes on a distinct sense of urgency, and the rush of it all becomes too much. They kiss, and they grasp, and Remus quietly drowns in the sensation of Sirius.

Most mornings when Remus wakes up, Sirius is there with him. He’s curled in against him, his head tucked into Remus’ shoulder. Sometimes he’s awake and sometimes he’s not. When he’s not awake, Remus doesn’t move for a long time, because he likes the opportunity to study Sirius in return. He hasn’t missed that Sirius has started to develop dark circles under his eyes, and that he seems to be laughing less. This is wearing him down just as much, and Remus wonders how long Sirius can keep this up as well -- he knows that even though this all wore on his sister, he also knows exactly where it led for Regulus Black, and he knows that he can’t stomach seeing the same thing happen to Sirius.

On the mornings when Sirius is already awake, he’ll move slowly, running his hands along the curve of Remus’ neck, tracing the faint scars that line Remus’ upper arms. He never says anything in the mornings. When he’s awake, there’s still a pervasive sadness to him, one that Remus has learned to read; he’s come to understand it. Because any time that Sirius ends up in his dreams, he knows that it was only because Sirius did not first find whatever it was he was searching for.

…

_She looks at him, and for a moment, the boy’s heart stops, because he thinks that this wolf must attack too. Some part of him is aware that he doesn’t understand what just happened. She drops low to the ground, belly nearly brushing it, shoulders raised up a bit. She whines again, continuing to look at him, and edges forward. The boy swallows. He knows he shouldn’t -- but he still offers one hand out to her. She keeps moving closer and the boy wants to flinch -- he is surprised by the cold press of her nose instead of the sharp bite of her teeth. He hears her sniff, and then she drops down at his feet, curling up on herself. The long tail brushes over the dirt floor of the forest. The boy, still not entirely certain, sits down beside her. They brave the night together._

…

It’s starting to grow late and Sirius still hasn’t come to get his blood. The sun set nearly two hours ago, and Remus is most of the way through a book on the history of pureblood families. Sirius had scowled when he saw Remus reading it, but hadn’t commented on it. 

He straightens in his chair, and takes a sip of tea as he waits to see if he can hear Sirius moving in his makeshift lab, but the flat is quiet around him. He pushes himself up and out of the chair he had been sitting in, and pads closer to the door. It’s open a crack and he can see that Sirius has fallen asleep, head resting on one of the journals that he’s making notes in. He’s still holding a pen in one hand, his wand in the other. There’s a low fire under the cauldron, but Remus can tell that the contents have already gone cold. 

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, brushing a hand over the back of Sirius’ neck and pressing a kiss to his temple, trying to rouse him slowly. Sirius blinks furtively. His eyes are unseeing for a moment, and he doesn’t seem to know where he is for a long moment. Remus remains near, resisting the urge to simply wrap his arms around Sirius from behind.

“Remus,” Sirius manages to say finally, the word laced with sleep. Sirius sits up, and rubs one hand across his face. There’s ink on the side of his hand, and he smears a streak of it across his nose.

“Where were you?” Remus asks softly, leaning in to try and clean the ink off of Sirius’ face. He rubs at the skin gently with his thumb. Sirius closes his eyes again.

“James,” Sirius says, and there’s a faint smile on his face -- one that is actual happiness, but has just the slightest bite of hurt to it as well. 

Remus moves his hand away and kisses Sirius on the forehead. He knows that he’ll probably never meet James -- but every now and then, usually in these moments when Sirius is somewhere between awake and asleep, more in the past than he is in the present, he’ll share some story about something that he and James once did. And he’s sad that Sirius is separated from him, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that he can slip into his dreams every now and then. He wonders if James knows when Sirius is there in the same way that he knows.

“I couldn’t find you,” Sirius comments, looking up at him.

“I was awake,” Remus explains, and Sirius nods again.

They’re quiet for a few moments. Sirius takes his hand, runs his fingers along the inside of his palm. He closes his eyes again, and Remus wonders if he’ll fall asleep again. He quietly wonders what it’s like to never rest while being asleep -- and he wonders if that is why Sirius seems to burn so much brighter than anyone else he’s ever met. His energy is seemingly unending, but never restored.

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs again, his voice a quiet reminder. He uses his other hand to push Sirius’ hair out of his face.

“Not tonight,” Sirius answers without looking at him. He sounds tired. 

Without warning, he stands, closing the distance between them. Remus is pushed against Sirius’ desk. He can feel Sirius’ journal move backward, but Sirius doesn’t seem to care.

“Let’s skip tonight,” Sirius says wryly. He’s smiling again, looking more like himself. He wraps one arm around Remus’ waist, pulling him forward. He kicks his chair out of the way, maneuvering them into the middle of the room. Remus can barely keep up with Sirius. Sirius spins him about once, heading toward the side of the room as he does. There’s a record player there, and Sirius deftly lowers the needle. It belts out something loud with a heavy beat, and of course, Remus doesn’t know it, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Sirius sways with the music, catching Remus again. He keeps one hand around his middle, the other tangling with one of Remus’ hands. 

He moves too quickly, and he doesn’t quite match the rhythm of the sound, but Remus laughs and goes along with it anyway. He’s seen Sirius like this only a few times, where he seems to shine through the darkness he’s wrapped himself in -- Remus has come to ache for them, and he knows to appreciate them when they happen. 

They swing about the room, Sirius guiding him all the while. He starts to sing along, his voice off-key but jubilant anyway. 

He picks Remus up at one point, whirling about before putting him down and pulling him in for a kiss. He mouths the words of the song against Remus’ lips. 

Another rock song plays after the first, and Sirius shows no sign of slowing down. When the third one begins, it’s slower, and Sirius pulls him, keeping their bodies aligned. Sirius rests his cheek against Remus’, and Remus holds Sirius’ hand all the tighter. They’re half way through the song before Remus ventures to speak.

“Why isn’t it working?” he whispers -- and it’s like something of a confession, because they’ve both dutifully ignored the fact that something is going awry. Sirius is missing something, and that is causing him not to be able to glean what he wants from the Dark Lord’s mind. 

Sirius lets out a heavy breath and Remus can feel it waft down the back of his neck. For a minute, Remus thinks that Sirius won’t answer him.

“When Regulus found out that the Dark Lord had made Horcruxes,” Sirius begins, his voice a low murmur. He sounds tired again. “He was only able to stay in his dream long enough to discover one. There’s more than one. I need to be able to stay there long enough to make sure I can find them all. And I haven’t been strong enough to do that. His mind… It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before. He’s _strong_.”

“How would you make yourself stronger?” Remus asks. He suspects he already knows the answer.

Sirius stills. They stop dancing, and Sirius pulls away. He glances away, his eyes lingering on the ground. 

“I’d need more blood.”

“Okay,” Remus answers automatically. Sirius stares at him. 

He raises up one of Remus’ arms and presses a soft kiss to one of the barely healed puncture wounds that now dot Remus’ arm. But when he lets go, he turns and walks out of the room.

…

_The boy wakes up in the pale and watery light of dawn. His mouth tastes of dirt and ash, and the ground is hard beneath him. He blinks several times, and it is only then that he becomes aware of her. She is still asleep beside him, breathing softly. Her pale skin is smeared with dirt, chestnut brown hair laced with leaves. There are thin lines of scars that web their way across her stomach. Tentatively, he runs his fingers along the fissures. Her eyes open, expression sharp, and she gazes up at him, and he down at her._

…

When Remus wakes up the next morning, Sirius is curled tightly against him. His brows are knit close together, and wherever he is, he doesn’t look comfortable. Remus has grown used to the way that Sirius is restless whenever he sleeps. But he still has a difficult time wrapping his mind around the idea that when Sirius sleeps, he isn’t really asleep. He can’t imagine how such a thing would feel, and given everything, he quietly wonders how the Blacks make it as long as they do without losing their grip on sanity. 

He kisses Sirius’ temples, and then his eyelids, rousing him back awake. Sirius pulls away for a moment, his nose wrinkling, before he finally opens his eyes. When he looks up at Remus, his expression softens, and a sleepy smile crosses his face. Remus can’t help but smile back at him. Sirius wraps one hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in closer for a slow kiss. 

“Good morning,” Remus breathes out.

“Morning,” Sirius answers, and he grins before pushing Remus onto his back and crawling on top of him. His fingers roam everywhere, slowing tracing Remus’ sides, sliding them over his ribs. He rubs his thumbs over the arches of Remus’ hips. 

Remus melts against him, pushing quietly. He twines one of his own hands in the dark strands of Sirius’ hair.

He likes these sorts of mornings, when they can pretend to be something they’re not. And it’s during these mornings that he wonders what they would be if they weren’t them -- if they had met in some other way. But he knows, in a very distinct way, that any sort of thoughts like this are absolutely pointless. Even if he hadn’t been brought back to London, there’s a sea of issues that separate him and Sirius. Sirius is a pureblood, raised with expectations, and Remus is a werewolf, ostracized by wizarding society. They make do with the time that they have and that’s the best they can do. 

Sirius moans quietly against his neck, nips his pulse, and murmurs, “Come back to me,” as if he can tell that Remus’ thoughts had strayed for an instant. 

“I’m here,” Remus promises and Sirius kisses him until he can’t breathe. 

They move slowly throughout the rest of the day. Remus eventually makes them breakfast, and they eat it still curled up on the floor together, and then curl up together for another hour or two. They’re both thinking about the conversation they had the day before. Remus knows it, because Sirius says nothing about it, doesn’t get up to work, but his grip on Remus seems to grow with each passing hour. 

“Come on,” Remus says finally, and he gathers up both of Sirius’ hands, and walks them both into Sirius’ work room. Sirius slouches down in the chair, his jeans low on his hips. There’s a sullen expression on his face that Remus can’t bear to see, the corners of his mouth turned down, his gaze distracted and distant. 

“This is what we need to finish it, right?” Remus asks, picking up the knife that rests on top of the desk. The blade is clean, and Remus steps close to Sirius. He runs his empty hand reassuringly over Sirius’ knee, rubbing his thumb in small circles. He presses the handle of the blade into Sirius’ hand, and still Sirius doesn’t look at him. 

“Let’s be done with it,” Remus murmurs and tries to kiss Sirius. For the first time, Sirius turns his head down, and Remus can see how he’s abruptly unsure of everything that happens. 

“What if I can’t?” Sirius breathes out, the words barely spoken, faint enough so that they can’t escape the two of them.

“You can,” Remus reassures him, tucking some of his hair away from his face. He presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes, letting go of the dream worlds where they would have been free to be together in some sort of uncomplicated way. They are merely dreams, and this is the only world they have, so it will have to work. “And I know you won’t be happy until you’ve done everything you can to try.” He runs his thumb over the arch of Sirius’ cheek bone, coaxing him back into himself. “Come on,” he whispers.

Sirius swallows, and Remus can see his throat muscles convulse for a moment. He nods, as if trying to reassure himself. He wraps his fingers around the knife, accepting it for the first time since Remus fit it against his palm. 

Remus leans back, resting on his heels, and offers forth his arm again. He can’t say that he isn’t without his own fears and worries about this. But he believes in the truth of what he’s just said -- and in the most simple sense of it, he now believes in Sirius. He knows that Sirius can’t ever really give this up; he knows that he has to finish this. And he knows that they won’t have anything of a life until it’s done. He doesn’t know what comes next. He doesn’t know if he can stay in London. He doesn’t know if either of them will survive the war. But he believes enough to be willing to try. 

Sirius wraps one hand around the top of his arm, and his grip is just a little too tight, but Remus doesn’t tense. He doesn’t think of pulling away. He looks up at Sirius the entire time, watching the way that his hair falls into his face, and watches the intense concentration that storms beneath his eyes. He watches the way the Dark Mark slides over the muscles in Sirius’ arm -- and wishes it wasn’t there. He wants to kiss this boy. 

The knife pierces his skin once again, and there’s the familiar pitter patter of his own blood hitting the bottom of an empty bowl. Remus watches the blood that curls up and over the side of his arm. He feels a bit faint already, but he doesn’t call for Sirius to stop. They head past where Sirius normally would’ve drawn away, bandaged his arm. Sirius’ eyes flit between his arm and his face, and the lines in his forehead get a bit deeper. 

“You’re pale,” Sirius whispers, moving one hand to run it over Remus’ cheek. His touch feels far away. 

“Keep going,” Remus murmurs, because if Sirius hasn’t stopped, he doesn’t have what he needs yet, and Remus knows that. He’ll stop when he has to -- Remus trusts that; Remus trusts him. 

Sirius bites into his lower lip, and Remus notices that he’s quite pale himself. There’s the pinch of the knife as it bites a bit deeper, and Remus stops watching his arm, and instead is exclusively watching Sirius. He wants to lift his other hand so that he can touch Sirius in return, to try and reassure him that it is all going to turn out the way it should, but his fingers feel far too heavy. Prickles of darkness begin to eat at his vision.

“Remus?” he hears Sirius say -- and realizes he can’t see him.

…

_The boy pulls his hand quickly back and raises them up to show that he doesn’t mean to hurt her. Her gaze is wary and she pulls herself into a sitting position. They linger nearby, on the edges of each other’s universes, untouching again. The boy asks the girl her name, but she shakes her head a moment later: She doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. The boy is quiet for some time, because he doesn’t know how to express his thanks for her saving him last night. He holds out both his hands, palms upward. She looks at his hands, and then at his face, and then places both of her slim hands in his. He smiles, and she echoes the sentiment; they are safe together, like this._

…

Remus wakes up in a bed. That’s the first odd thing he notices. When he actually opens his eyes, the second thing he realizes is that he’s no longer in Sirius’ flat. His pulse jumps a bit at that, because, understandably, he’s uncomfortable being some place unfamiliar. He pushes himself up to one elbow, but is hit with a wave of dizziness that forces him back against the sheets. He glances down and sees that the arm that Sirius had been taking blood from is bandaged. The spot where the knife had broken the skin quietly aches.

Once he’s still again, he realizes that he can hear voices not too far off -- perhaps from just outside the closed door, but they’re low for the time being. It takes him several moments of quietly listening to realize that one of them is Sirius’ -- he’s barely talking. The other is another male voice, but Remus doesn’t recognize it. He’s talking softly as well, but his voice is also steadily rising.

“--can’t keep doing this anymore,” Remus can just make out. “You’re going to get yourself killed, and that’s the last thing I want.”

Sirius murmurs something that Remus can’t make out. 

“No, come on, look at me. _Sirius._ Don’t do it anymore.” 

“No,” Sirius answers, and his voice is louder than any other part of the conversation so far.

_“Sirius.”_

“Both of you move.” 

That’s a female voice that Remus knows, but takes a moment to place -- Andromeda. The door to the room opens and then she’s standing there, holding a tray. She raises an eyebrow when she sees that he’s awake, but closes the door behind her again. It’s open long enough for Remus to catch a glimpse of Sirius’ pale face. He’s looking into the room as well; their eyes meet for an instant. Across from him is a boy that Remus has never seen before; he looks to be about Sirius’ age, and Remus knows just enough to piece together that he must be James.

“How’re you feeling?” Andromeda asks. She pulls his attention away from the door.

“Weak,” Remus admits, because he’s too afraid of lying to her. 

“That’s not surprising,” she says, and sets a tray down on to the table beside the bed. She hands him a glass of something that he knows has to be a potion. He looks at it warily, because even though he’s become accustomed to being around Sirius, he’s still been raised to be wary of accepting anything from wizards -- especially anything that has to do with magic.

“For the blood loss,” Andromeda explains. “You lost a lot.” She pauses. “It will also help you sleep.” Remus looks up at her, and she sighs. Her shoulders drop a little. “I’m a Healer,” she offers up -- and Remus finally understands everything. Sirius brought him here for help instead of to a wizard’s hospital which may have not helped him because he was a werewolf. Which may have arrested him for being a werewolf, and which may have arrested Sirius for thinking they had been attacking him.

Remus tilts the potion back and drinks it slowly. He can feel it burning down his throat and the heat of it sits uneasily in his stomach. He sinks back against the pillows and shifts. 

The door clicks open and both Andromeda and Remus turn toward it. The other boy -- James -- is standing in the doorway. 

“Can I--?” he only half asks, looking at Andromeda as he speaks. Andromeda considers him for a moment, but then relents, nodding. 

“Eat this before you sleep,” Andromeda says to him, her tone warning.

“Thank you,” Remus says, and he manages to smile at her -- as soon as he does, he can see the change in her face. She warms, and he can see more of Sirius in her. She smiles in return, and he understands why it was that she was the only other Black to leave the family. 

She leaves, shutting the door behind her. James lingers near the doorway for a moment, and then comes to stand where Andromeda had been.

“I’m James,” he says by way of introduction. “Sirius’ brother.”

“I’m Remus,” he answers a little quietly. 

“It’s good to meet you,” James says in a way that Remus can’t help but feel is utterly genuine -- he can see why James and Sirius must get along. They both have the same sort of energy, the sort of magnetism that must draw people toward them. He doesn’t know James, but he finds himself wanting to like him. 

After the brief introductions, he can see the lines of worry grow on James’ face once again. 

“I know he’s doing something stupid,” James murmurs. “Something I’m sure is really brave. And I know he thinks that it will save me.” James clears his throat abruptly, as if he’s having difficulty speaking. “But I wouldn’t ever want him to do something that would sacrifice himself in the process.” 

Remus feels something tight in his chest, and he merely nods. He wants to tell James that he wants the same thing; he suddenly can’t bear the idea of this boy that he’s known for so short a time harming himself in anyway, but, he also wants to tell James, he has no idea how he’s supposed to save him. He doesn’t know how to talk Sirius out of what he’s doing, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to maintain a place in Sirius’ life. He doesn’t know if he even has a place in Sirius’ life -- and especially not after everything they’ve been doing is done. 

A sad smile crosses James’ face and he reaches down and squeezes Remus’ hand lightly. 

“Maybe in another life we’ll get to know each other,” James says.

…

_In the heart of the midnight forest, the girl-wolf kisses the boy who is not yet a man. And the boy knows he is no longer lost, but will always be found with her._

…

Andromeda keeps him in place for a few days. He’s fairly sure that she keeps him only to deter Sirius. He feels much better after only a day, but Andromeda keeps him tucked into bed. He doesn’t argue, because he knows there’s no point, but also because he doesn’t exactly know what he’s going to do. He doesn’t dream the entire time that he’s at Andromeda’s house. 

When she does let him return to Sirius’ flat, she doesn’t say anything to him, but just gives him a look that says everything, and Remus thanks her the best that he can. 

Sirius is waiting for him outside, and tucks an arm around him and Apparates them back to his flat. He’s not laughing; he’s not even smiling, and Remus is a little scared, because he doesn’t always know how to read Sirius, and wishes that he could. When he wears this cold mask, it reminds Remus of the brief moments he met Sirius’ mother, and that makes worry grow tightly behind Remus’ chest.

When they arrive back inside, Sirius doesn’t pull away at first. Instead, he wraps both of his arms around Remus and buries his face against Remus’ shoulder. It’s a relief to have Sirius’ warmth pressed up against him again and he turns his face against Sirius’ hair. He shuts his eyes and concentrates on the feel of him for the time being. 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispers, and he’s so quiet when he says it, that Remus can scarcely hear him. It’s more of asensation, the words mumbled against his skin. 

“I’m okay,” Remus promises, because he is, and because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say. He runs his hand along Sirius’ back, hoping that the action is somewhat comforting. 

Sirius pulls away, and cups his face before kissing him fiercely. He applies too much pressure, but Remus doesn’t think of pulling away. He understands what Sirius is trying to say with this kiss -- that he really is sorry, and that he wishes that it was someone else, or that this wasn’t happening. And Remus kisses him back calmly, telling him that, in the end, this is the way that things are, and that they must live with it. Sirius strokes his face and his neck, his hands almost fretful in their actions. He cards his fingertips through Remus’ hair, and when he finally breaks off the kiss, he remains close, breathing too heavily.

“Did you try?” Remus asks, because he can’t not. He can feel Sirius’ eyes flit up to meet his.

“No,” Sirius breathes out, and his answer sounds guilty. Remus can’t tell why. 

“You should,” Remus answers, trying to reassure him. He slides a hand along Sirius’ waist. “It shouldn’t go to waste.” 

Sirius pulls away, putting them at an arm’s length, and he stares at Remus. Remus looks right back at him, unflinching. He can’t read the flash of emotions that cross Sirius’ face, but neither does he try to this time. He’s learned that there’s a lot more to the facade that Sirius puts on; he’s so much more than the simple rebel that he pretends to be, and Remus knows that he won’t ever understand everything that Sirius feels, won’t ever guess at everything Sirius thinks. He’s fine with that. He reaches down and squeezes Sirius’ hand, and then he deftly pulls away. He walks away, heading into the kitchen, leaving Sirius standing in the middle of the room on his own. 

He does want to protect Sirius; he’d taken James’ message to heart. But he also strongly suspects that the best way to protect Sirius is to get this over with as quickly as possible. They need to draw this to a close. 

…

_They stay in the forest for as long as they can. They stay together, and they sleep on the cold ground underneath the canopy of trees. They watch the stars, and they curl together, and whisper stories into each other’s ears. They dream together She sends him away when it’s not safe anymore. But they make promises, imprinted on each other’s lips. He’ll come back after the next full, and they’ll find some balance, find some place where they can build a life together._

…

Sirius doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the day. He goes into the room where all his potions are set up, but Remus knows he’s not working. He doesn’t hear the familiar clink of glass against glass. There’s no curl of potion in the air. There’s silence, and when he walks by, just once, Sirius is slouched in his chair, staring out the window. 

He makes dinner, something simple, and brings it into Sirius. He presses a kiss to the top of Sirius’ head, and Sirius reaches for his hand, and just holds him for a long time without ever saying anything. 

Remus makes sure he eats, and then leaves. He falls asleep on the couch with a book on his chest.

He doesn’t dream until late in the night. He’s in the forest, the one he grew up in, the one where he usually is when Sirius wanders into his dream. He isn’t there long before Sirius comes stumbling through the dream. He flickers for a moment, and it frightens Remus. Everything seems to grow too still as he goes toward Sirius. He looks unwell, even in the dream. His face is too pale, and one of his hands is tucked around his middle. Remus catches a shadow of red, and he goes to reach for Sirius, but Sirius pressed his hands against Remus’ face first, holding him in place.

“It didn’t work?” Remus asks in a breath.

“No,” Sirius says, and his smile is twisted, sadness laced with irony. “It did.”

Remus starts a little, his heart speeding up a bit, and he feels himself lurch toward consciousness for an instant, Sirius’ touch fading away. 

“Remus,” Sirius continues, and his voice is a little distant. Remus feels the need to cling to him. His hands reach for Sirius, as if he can anchor himself to Sirius, to the fabric of this dream. Sirius might have said that he got what he needed, but it’s clear that something has gone wrong, and it scares him, because he has no idea what’s happening. “I need your help,” Sirius murmurs, and he catches the fleeting sensation of Sirius’ fingers running over his face. 

Remus nods.

“You need to find Albus Dumbledore,” Sirius says. “And tell him these things,” 

He expects Sirius to tell him a list of items, but instead he catches glimpses, flashes of memories. A book -- a diary -- tucked away inside a library. A locket inside a cave. A ring inside an ancient-looking house. A goblet, tucked away amongst other golden items -- a bank vault? A diadem inside a cluttered room. 

“Remus,” Sirius says his name insistently, trying to give him some other kind of instruction, but Remus can’t focus anymore. He’s spinning with the onslaught of information, each memory taught with an overabundance of emotion. He’s spiraling upward and awakes gasping, his chest tight. He remembers everything clearly, and scrambles to his feet, grappling for a quill. He writes down each item on the inside cover of the book. 

“Remus?”

He spins at the sound of his name, and is surprised to see a face in the fire place. It’s an elderly man wearing half-moon spectacles, and he might have never met Albus Dumbledore but he knows what he looks like. He isn’t sure if there’s anybody in the wizarding world that doesn’t. Remus’ mouth goes a bit dry, but he nods, because Sirius said that he was supposed to tell him about the items. 

“I believe Sirius should have Floo powder on the mantle, if you’d be kind enough to join me,” Albus says, and Remus can tell just by the way that he speaks that he’s kind, even though he’s quite serious about what’s happening. And it sounds as if he’s just woken as well. Remus glances upward and can see that there’s a canister of something that looks like green dust. 

“Saying ‘Hogwarts’ will bring you to my office,” Albus instructs, and that’s the last thing he says before disappearing. 

Remus’ heart is still pounding too quickly in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because he knows that there are things happening that he doesn’t fully understand -- and he’s a little frightened to do this all without Sirius. He still has a profound distrust of wizards that he can’t quite shake. 

But he knows that, for one reason or another, Sirius can’t do this, so it’s up to him. He picks up the book, and approaches the fire place. He opens the canister and takes a pinch of the green dust. He throws it into the dying fireplace, and watches at the flames briefly flare green.

“Hogwarts,” he says, trying to keep his voice as clear as possible. He’s seized by the flow of magic, a sharp yank that reminds him of when he’s Apparating at Sirius’ side. He feels disorientated and spun about when he arrives in the dim interior of Dumbledore’s office. It’s large, and Remus wants to look everywhere at once.

He’s never been to Hogwarts. Even if he had been raised by wizards, he knows that there’s almost no chance that he would have been allowed here. He’s a werewolf and the only thing that scares wizards more than the idea of a werewolf is the idea of a werewolf with their children. They can’t be allowed to learn magic, which is why they retreat into the forests, trying to keep their last claim on the world.

Still, he can’t help but stare. There are books everywhere, lining the walls, and all of the portraits stare at him, their eyes following him as he walks. One of them sniffs disapprovingly.

“You must be Remus Lupin.” 

Remus turns and comes face to face with Dumbledore. Now that he’s standing in front of him, a little more clear-minded, he does wonder how Dumbledore knows about him -- he wonders if Sirius has said anything, but he doesn’t dare ask and Dumbledore doesn’t offer up any information.

“I am,” Remus says. He pauses for only an instant before adding -- “Sirius said I should come to you.” Dumbledore’s expression grows grave, and he moves one hand, offering up a chair to Remus. Remus clutches the book too tightly to him still, but sits down in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

It’s only once he’s seated does he begin to realize how mussed and out of place he must look here. His feet are bare, and he’s still wearing the clothes he fell asleep in. He shifts a little in the chair. 

Dumbledore walks behind the desk and, for an instant, Remus thinks that he won’t sit. He does though, and folds both of his hands together, placing them on top of the desk, which is littered with papers.

“Sirius informed that he was able to discover which items are Voldemort’s Horcruxes,” Dumbledore says, keeping his voice calm the entire time. “But he was unable to maintain his connection long enough to tell me what these items were. He said that you would be able to tell me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Remus answers, and it’s only then that he lifts up the book and places it tentatively on top of the desk, the list open for Dumbledore to read. He leans forward, his glasses sliding down his crooked nose a little. 

“You saw all these items?” Dumbledore says after an instant, looking up at him. 

“Sirius showed them to me,” Remus answers, nodding his head. 

Dumbledore reaches forward, grabbing his own quill and a pot of ink. He moves carefully, posing the quill above the notes that Remus has already taken. He then begins to ask questions, seeking out any sort of detail about that can be coaxed from Remus’ mind about each of the items. They go through them one by one, until Dumbledore has figured out where each of the Horcruxes is. Each time he figures out where a Horcrux is, he nods at the phoenix that is perched behind his desk. The bird will disappear for a short amount of time, but is always back by the time they’ve sorted out where the next Horcrux is.

By the time they’ve finished, the sun has risen, and Remus is exhausted. His mind feels wrung out, and he feels as if he hasn’t slept in days. He can’t help but be grateful when Dumbledore closes the book that’s covered in his notes, and slides it into the top drawer of his desk. 

“You’ve done a very brave thing here tonight, Remus,” Dumbledore informs him. He hardly looks tired at all and Remus can’t help but marvel over that. 

“Will this bring the war to an end?” is all Remus can manage to say, because that’s what he wants -- that’s what Sirius has been working for. Horcruxes destroyed, Voldemort made mortal so that he could be destroyed. The threat to all of their lives gone. 

Dumbledore smiles. He stands up again, rounds the side of the desk. 

“You know Sirius was only able to stay in my dream long enough to tell me to come to you,” Dumbledore says. “Your connection must be quite strong.” Remus stands as well and follows Dumbledore back toward the fireplace that Remus had come through. Dumbledore hands him a pinch of Floo Powder and Remus holds it in the palm of his hand.

“It’s those connections that will this war,” Dumbledore says lightly before Remus is swept back away. 

When he arrives back at Sirius’ flat, he doesn’t worry about Dumbledore or Horcruxes, who’s going to destroy them or the end of the war. He curls up in the bed beside Sirius, pillowing his head against Sirius’ shoulder, and listens to him quietly breathe. He’s asleep within seconds.

…

_The moon passes. The girl-wolf waits for the boy on the edge of the forest. But he doesn’t come._

…

Remus wakes up late in the afternoon. The room is filled with sunlight, and he’s curled tightly against Sirius’ side. His head is on the other’s chest, his legs tangled with Sirius’. He’s holding him more tightly than he should be. He’s not scared precisely -- but he wakes up with the implicit knowledge that last night changed everything. He glances up at Sirius, who is still asleep, his head turned away from him. Remus watches him for a minute, listens to the sound of his heart beating in his chest, feels the rise-fall of every breath that Sirius takes. 

He closes his eyes again, just for an instant, trying to pretend that this is their life, that there’s a shred of normalcy that exists between them. He wants to stay -- and that’s what he’s realized. The city might make his skin feel a little too tight, but they could leave when they wanted now. There would be no more fulls where they’re locked up, silenced by charms. He could show Sirius what he knows too -- take the dog racing through the forests of France. He wants to be with Sirius -- the cursed boy, the traitor Black prince. The one who is always willing to risk everything. Remus wants to risk something for him. 

He leans up and presses a kiss to Sirius’ forehead, but Sirius doesn’t stir just yet. He smoothes a hand down Sirius’ neck, and quietly pulls away. He pulls the blanket back up over Sirius, and then heads to the bathroom. He showers, cleaning himself up, and then pads into the kitchen. He makes them food, figuring that Sirius is going to be hungry when he actually wakes up. When he returns to the bedroom with a plate of food though, Sirius is still asleep. He hasn’t moved. 

It’s only then that Remus’ heart seizes in his chest, his instincts warning him that’s something’s awry. 

“Sirius,” Remus says aloud, and he hadn’t actually thought that that would work, but the moment that it doesn’t, he actively begins to panic -- which is ridiculous, because he’s always been the one that’s good at solving problems, at keeping things in check. But when Sirius doesn’t wake up, Remus drops the food, and scrambles up onto the bed. 

“Sirius!” Remus all but shouts, and runs his hands insistently over Sirius’ face, and then grabs at his shoulders, doing whatever he can to try and get Sirius to wake up -- to look at him -- say his name in response. Sirius’ head rolls backward against the pillows, but he doesn’t look up at Remus. Emotion tightens Remus’ throat.

Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong, and he doesn’t know how in the hell he’s supposed to fix it. He hadn’t dreamed last night -- not after coming back from Dumbledore’s, and he knows that he won’t be able to sleep now, won’t be able to just wait for Sirius to come to him. He has to do something on this side of things. He looks frantically around the room, because he’s in a flat filled with all sorts of magical items. There has to be something he can do. 

He climbs back off the bed, and hurries toward the fireplace. He grabs up a handful of Floo Powder, and tosses it in. The flames spark green, and Remus tries to say Hogwarts as calmly as he can, even though he’s feeling absolutely frantic. Nothing happens. He doesn’t find himself in Dumbledore’s office again, and he doesn’t have time to wonder why that is -- if the grate has been closed or maybe if something has happened to Dumbledore himself. He bites his lower lip until it bleeds. 

In the next room, he hears the soft hoot of Sirius’ owl. He doesn’t know if she’ll listen to him, but he’s growing increasingly desperate. He grabs a scrap of parchment and scribbles out a brief note -- _We need help._

He rolls the parchment up and looks at the owl.

“Find Andromeda, please,” he says and the owl remains still as he attaches the note to her leg, and he can only pray that that’s acceptance. She takes off through the window, and Remus watches her for a moment, his heart pounding still. 

He tries to think of what else he could do. Sirius’ wand is here, but he doesn’t know how to Apparate, doesn’t know any spell that could fix this. There’s the bike -- the bike that he could figure out how to work, but where could he go? It wouldn’t be as if he could bring Sirius with him on it. 

He paces. Openly paces while his mind races. 

He hears a crack of noise from the next room, and is beyond relieved to see Andromeda standing there. She looks mussed, and a little scared.

“What’s wrong?” is the first thing she asks him when she sees him.

“I can’t get Sirius to wake up,” he says, and he wants to cry, but he wills himself not to, because he knows that he needs to be strong if they’re going to work through this. 

Andromeda wastes no time. She hurries into the bedroom, and tries to rouse Sirius as well, and when she fails, she draws back, the worry lines on her face growing deeper.

“He took the potion again, didn’t he,” she says, and it’s not a question in the slightest. It’s an assumption, but Remus nods anyway. 

“We have to get him to Mungo’s,” Andromeda says, and she sounds as if she doesn’t like the idea. “They’ll have everything there. I don’t think I can do anything here.” 

“All right,” Remus agrees. He knows that it’s not safe for him or Sirius in Mungo’s, but there’s no choice now. He walks around to the other side of the bed, and he and Andromeda both maneuver Sirius forward, one of his arms across each of their shoulders. He’s dead weight, but they manage. Andromeda has her wand in one hand; there’s the familiar pull of Apparition that he’s come to associate with Sirius, and then they’re in a place he’s never been. 

The walls are white, and it makes Remus feel uncomfortable; they’re surrounded by people on all sides, and Remus feels more claustrophobic than he’s ever been. He has vague memories of a place like this, and he fights them down. 

No one seems to pay attention to them at first. The seconds drag on for forever until someone seems to recognize Andromeda -- a man steps in and takes Sirius’ arm from around Remus’ neck. He wants to reach for him again but then they’re moving. 

He tries to keep up as they move hastily to a room, and Remus finds himself in a corner, watching without understanding as they begin to inspect Sirius, wands out, colors flashing briefly in the air. He doesn’t know what any of this means, but his hands are balled at his sides, his fingers so tight that they ache. 

It isn’t long before they find the Dark Mark on Sirius’ arm -- and while a sharp look from Andromeda ensures that they don’t stop working, there’s a moment of distinct unease. When the Healers are more concentrated on their work again, Andromeda looks back at him and nods, a clear sign that he should go. He doesn’t have a Dark Mark, but he’s not precisely safe either. But he shakes his head -- it’s more than that he doesn’t have any place to go. He doesn’t want to go. He needs to be here, with Sirius, to make sure that he makes it out okay. 

Still, it’s not long after they discover the Dark Mark that a pair of men -- who must be Aurors -- arrive. They look haggard. They take one look at Sirius, cast some sort of spell that Remus has never heard before, and then turn toward him.

“You’ll need to come with us,” one of them says.

…

_The boy does not come. Instead, his father comes. His brothers and cousins and uncles come. They come and they chase the wolf-girl. They hunt her down._

…

Remus has been in this room for days. At least two, possibly three. He paces mostly. He’s fairly certain that he’s still in the hospital. The room is laced with all sorts of enchantments, spells that hold him in place. He had considered escaping the first night -- and then actually tried to escape the second. But he’s actually trapped. 

The Aurors had only been to seen him a few times. They had pulled the sleeve of his shirt up when they had first captured him, and upon finding no Dark Mark, but enough scars that they were able to piece together what he is, they’re at a loss for what to do with him. And don’t seem to have the time either. They’ve asked him a bit about Sirius, but Remus doesn’t answer, and when he refuses to answer, they leave him alone. 

Every time they come in, Remus asks them if Sirius has woken up yet, but since he won’t answer their questions, they won’t answer his.

He’s seen Andromeda once -- she had been outside the door, and she had looked quite stern. She had never raised her voice, but Remus saw her point once, and the Auror she was looking at did look embarrassed. But whatever she was saying didn’t seem to have any effect -- or she wasn’t trying to help him. 

He curls up in the corner of the room and feels his skin grow too tight. He can’t breathe in here, and he feels the sincere need to run. He sleeps as much as he can, but Sirius never comes to him. In his dreams, he wanders through the forest, and he tries to find Sirius. He tries to find the dog. Neither of them ever come to him, and he always wakes with streaks of tears down his face, his hands curled up against the walls. He’s never felt so helpless. 

It’s the evening of the fourth night, and the door swings open. Remus can feel that it’s late, and he’s exhausted and completely on edge. When he looks up, he’s surprised to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway. 

“Mr. Lupin,” he says simply, although there seems to be a graveness to his voice that wasn’t there before.

Remus stares for a moment, and then manages to collect himself. He pushes himself to his feet, and follows after Dumbledore, who turns and walks into the hallway. 

One of the Aurors is holding the door open for the two of them, and he doesn’t look at Remus when he passes. His eyes are fixated on the floor, and Remus doesn’t think it’s quite shame -- but more deference for Dumbledore. 

Remus swallows uneasily, and tries to keep close to Dumbledore. He doesn’t head toward the front of the hospital, but instead toward the back. 

They’re not outside yet, but when they get close enough, Remus can see someone standing past the door. His heart lurches back into his throat, because he can recognize the dark hair even in the low lighting, the familiar and easy set of those shoulders. 

It takes everything he has not to run past Dumbledore, to wrap his arms around Sirius. 

Instead, the door opens, and Sirius turns toward him -- but he smiles when he sees Remus, and it’s absolutely the most beautiful thing that Remus has ever seen. He knows he’s stopped, and he isn’t quite sure what to do -- but Sirius, as always, does. He moves toward him, closing up the distance between them, and he wraps his arms around him so tightly that Remus can’t breathe at all for a minute. He buries his face in Sirius’ shoulder -- and he smells a little too much like the hospital, but underneath that, he can still detect what’s so distinctly Sirius: just a bit of dog, and leather, and those cigarettes that he likes to go outside and smoke when he’s trying to think. 

Sirius holds him like that for longer than he probably should, but they eventually part, and Sirius looks back up at Dumbledore.

“I hear the French countryside is particularly lovely this time of year,” is all Dumbledore says, and he’s smiling again, his gaze keen. 

Sirius nods, as if he understands the brief statement. He reaches down and grasps Remus’ hand, his touch perhaps a bit too tight, but Remus wants to cling to him just as much. 

“Thank you,” Remus hears Sirius say before they Disapparate.

He has no idea where they arrive, and he doesn’t bother to look, not for a second. He turns to Sirius before his head even stops spinning, and he kisses him too roughly. One of his hands goes to Sirius’ shoulder, and the other twines up into his hair. Sirius lets out a rough breath against his mouth that sounds utterly desperate. He feels Sirius’ hands against his body, reflecting their worry just as much. He’ll have bruises in the shapes of Sirius’ fingertips tomorrow, and he revels in the notion. 

“You’re okay?” Remus says, and he brushes Sirius’ hair out of his face, the motion repetitive and somewhat calming. 

“I’m okay,” Sirius murmurs in response, a small smile creasing at the corners of his mouth again. He kisses him even as he asks, “You?”

“I’m okay,” Remus half-whispers, not bothering to pull back so that he can answer properly. 

They fall into bed together, curl up around each other, blankets piled over them. Remus falls asleep to the sensation of Sirius’ fingers mapping out his hips.

He dreams again.

Remus wakes up with Sirius half on top of him. He looks up at him, and can’t help but reach out and run his thumb over Sirius’ cheek. Sirius opens his eyes right away, and smiles down at him, the motion sleepy and slow. He kisses him the same way. 

They wake up together, their motions relaxed, reveling in the warmth of their bed for the time being.

“Where are we?” Remus asks when he finally decides to speak. He can see that they’re in some sort of cottage -- it’s small, but the air isn’t oppressive. It doesn’t look like it’s been lived in for some time; there’s a layer of dust on everything, but the place stills looks fully stocked, as if it was just waiting for them.

“A safe house in France,” Sirius answers, kissing the back of his neck. “Dumbledore thought it would be safer for us to both come here until everything’s finally over.” 

“Did he find them?” Remus murmurs, his fingertips tracing the back of Sirius’ hand. 

“He did,” Sirius says -- and Remus can hear the quiet pride in his voice, the amount of relief that comes from knowing that they played a part in Voldemort’s demise. “They’re gone. It’s just him now.” Sirius pauses. “That’s what took Dumbledore so long to get to us. He didn’t know -- he was finding one of them.” 

…

_The girl-wolf knows the forest better than they do, but she can’t run forever. There are too many of them, and their spells chase her down, snap at her feet, bind her to the ground. She looks up at them, and she tells herself she must not be afraid. She asks where the boy is._

_Gone, they say. We dreamed of better things for him than you._

_And she cannot bring herself to ask them more than that._

_Their eyes are cruel and they bring out their knives, and her blood splashes dark across the forest floor._

_May your dreams torment you, she murmurs when she can see nothing but stars. I curse you._

…

Remus savors their time in the cabin together. He and Sirius struggle to cook together, and Remus tries to teach Sirius better French. They go to a nearby market when they can. They curl up in bed together every night, and Sirius starts to tell Remus stories about his childhood -- the rare, happier slices, and in turn, Remus shares his stories as well. 

When the full comes, Remus takes Sirius to the forest that he knows so well, and they run the whole night, and when they wake up the next morning, they’re both covered in leaves and mud, and Sirius laughs so loud that the birds in the trees fly away. 

They’re in bed together one morning, and the sun hasn’t yet risen, when the first owl comes. It carries a newspaper that has a blaring headline on it, announcing the war is over. Remus pretends not to notice when tears start to gather in Sirius’ eyes. 

He kisses him again, and Sirius pulls him down underneath the covers, and they hold each other for a long time.

The second owl comes within the hour, and Remus doesn’t know the handwriting, but Sirius doesn’t even pretend to not cry when he reads that James and Lily and Harry are going to be coming to them tomorrow. 

They stay in bed together all day, and imagine the celebrations that are happening in the streets of London, but are content to be far away in France.

“I love you,” Sirius whispers as he clasps their hands tightly together, kissing each one of Remus’ knuckles. Remus can’t help but smile in return. He leans in and brushes a kiss against Sirius’ forehead, and then each one of his shut eyelids. 

“I uncurse you,” Remus whispers, and he doesn’t know why he says it, but the words come unbidden.

They fall asleep, tucked against each other, and for the first time in all of his life, Sirius Black dreams a dream that belongs to him.


End file.
